It’s a replica of the one beyond the door, except it’s much more spacious. It needs to be for the cages.
My father may own—Goddamn. This is going to take some getting used to.Asadmay own this building and everything in it, but this lab within the lab? It’s mine. I had it clandestinely constructed. One of the perks—maybe the only perk—of havinga father who doesn’t give a fuck what you do as long as you’re providing his drugs is he’s not all up in your business. Used to seeing the four of us at HoC after hours, security doesn’t pay attention to the three-man team I’ve granted access through the rear of the building. And with the lab already being soundproof? That’s how one gets a secret lab up and running under a drug kingpin’s nose.
Now, did I have the construction team murdered so they couldn’t betray my secrets? Yes, but that’s just self-preservation. My money supplied every piece of equipment, every chemical, every experiment. And the results from here would only belong to me, not House of Cross or the Cross empire.
My exit plan from HoC has been over a year in the making. Twenty-two months to be exact. About as long as this lab has been in existence. Marcus’s death just shoved the timeline ahead. This new drug? It’s going to fund my way out of here and my new empire.
Yeah, I’ll probably be a little sentimental when I shut this space down. I’m going to miss it.
“Damn, I’m going to miss this place,” Jaq says, damn near reading my mind as they turn their head to scan the area.
“Same.” Gus thrusts his large hands into the pockets of his coat. “We’ve had some good times and have done some of our best work in here.”
“But we’ll still have more of those good times in the new lab,” Perla adds, always the ray of sunshine of the group. She sweeps her purple bangs out her eyes, tilting her head. “This might be our last night here, but it’s not our last night together.”
“Aw, shit. If she breaks out on some Sister Sledge ‘We Are Family’ bullshit, I’m knocking her the fuck out and shipping her back to whatever fucking fairy tale she escaped from. Ain’t nobody got time for that,” Jaq warns with a jab of their finger toward Perla.
Gus snorts, and Perla does a combination of fancy tap footwork while holding both of her middle fingers up. She oncetold me her mother made her take dance when she was little, hoping it’d make her more social. It didn’t work—one of the little girls in the class ended up mysteriously dying, so it was shut down early—but Perla does remember some of the steps. The girl has talent.
“What Perla said.” I pause. Then snort. “Without all the sentiment. Grab your tablets. Let’s get to it. We got a drug to perfect and still have to officially close this lab down tomorrow night, so we need to get as much work done as possible before then.”
Because starting two days from now, we’ll be in our new lab, located in the basement of my apartment building. Since no one knows of this space, and the door can only be opened by the four of us, I’m not worried about dismantling it.
“Roger that.” Gus moves toward the cabinet next to the occupied floor-to-ceiling cages and pulls four tablets free.
He hands one to me and the others, keeping one for himself. We pull up our previous notes from a couple of nights ago. Though the information is branded into my brain, I still study the calculations and formulas from both my control and test groups. Nodding, I slip the tablet into my coat pocket and stride over to the first pen. I pluck the binder hanging from the front and flip through it, perusing Jaq’s meticulous notes from last night’s observation. As soon as we step into this lab, a recorder, both visual and audio, automatically clicks on. But I still require the three of them to log in their data. Technology can fail, and it would be negligent to not have a backup.
“Day eleven. Subject one. Control group. No change in appearance or symptoms,” I narrate, narrowing my gaze on the specimen crouched in the corner of the cage, shivering like a dog left out in the elements too long. Its low, continuous whimpers echo off the lab’s walls. They’re irritating as fuck and distracting. Besides, when he was busy breaking into the homes of elderly women, robbing and beating them to hell and back, I’m sure they whimpered, too. We match energy in here. “The subject shows signs of increased swelling in the hands, ankles, and feet. Possible hypervolemia. Previousnotes record a marked lethargic response and loss of appetite.” I remove a thin flashlight from my pocket and aim it into the cage, right into the subject’s eyes. It gives a slow blink, belatedly frowns, and sluggishly raises its arm to shield its eyes. “Slow response. Perspiration on the forehead, chest, and arms. Skin is flushed. Appears to be febrile response to a possible infection. We’ll need to check its temperature and take a culture sample. Also, note the phlebitis at the injection site.”
Normally, in most clinical trials, a sugar pill or saline solution is given to the control group. The subjects in my control group are special though. So they’ve been administered a sodium chloride solution. In other words, salt.
Makes for a slow, painful death.
Perla hums. “We should have another week with it. Possibly a couple of days more before we have to dispose of it,” she says.
“We’ll keep it until it’s served its purpose, just like all the others.”
I move to the next pen, but I hear the dismissal in Jaq’s voice and silently agree with them.
“Then the real fun begins,” Gus says, a smile curving his mouth. Red paints his cheekbones, and when he looks at me, excitement gleams there. The same thread of glee prances through me like an auntie fucking up the Electric Slide at the cookout.
Yes, my lab assistants are brilliant, dedicated, and loyal, and to many, unassuming and meek—even Gus with his big ass. Which is why they’ve been dubbed the “lab mice” by the employees in the Castle.
While I appreciate and admire those qualities about them, they aren’t the most useful to me.
It’s their sociopathy.
All three of them are sociopaths.
Like me.
Don’t get me wrong. I grew up in a house brimming with a Disneyland of personality disorders and antisocial behaviors. But even there, I didn’tbelong. I for damn sure wasn’t ever safe. Buthere, with my lab mice? I’ve found my people. They’re mine, and I’m theirs.
For the next hour, we go through, running the same physical examinations, studying and recording our observations for the rest of the subjects of the control group. Once we finish, we move on to the next set of cages lined against the opposite wall.
As soon as I stop in front of the first one, the subject inside whimpers and scrambles away, pressing its spine against the back bars. Its head swings from side to side, a wild glaze in its eyes as if it’s desperately searching for an exit, a way out of the kennel.
A smile stretches across my face, and as its gaze lands on me, it visibly flinches, body jerking. Oooh. I think my clit just swelled.
